


Sober

by CR Noble (erudite12)



Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Blood, F/M, Fluff, Tumblr, Tumblr Challenge, challenge, language probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:29:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7786849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erudite12/pseuds/CR%20Noble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Excerpt: “Sam Bloody Winchester. You’ve heard of him, yeah?” he abruptly started, removing the needle from his forearm with a sharp inhale. You slowly nodded in answer to his question as he rolled the sleeve down. “He and his squirrel of a brother found a way to close the gates of Hell permanently. They had to complete three specific trials, the last of which was to cure a demon.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sober

**Author's Note:**

> Relationship: Crowley x Reader  
> Characters: Crowley, reader, Sam and Dean Winchester (mentioned)  
> Word Count: 1.5k
> 
> Warnings: Angst, fluff, blood, addiction, probably some language (I basically put this warning in for everything I write cuz I have a horrid potty mouth)
> 
> A/N: This is my entry for @faith-in-dean and @for-the-love-of-dean’s July Saints and Sinners challenge and as always I am hella flirting with the deadline. The song I got was Call Me When You’re Sober by Evanescence. It’s kind of angsty, kind of fluffy, and I hope you guys like it!
> 
> Thank you to my two wonderful beta’s @shanandco0825 and @trenchcoats-and-bees, without whom this fic would not have been so good because I actually have no idea what I’m doing :)

 

“Thanks for shopping at Crystal Shadows!” You called sweetly as you followed the couple, who were obviously tourists, to the door. You locked up behind them and flipped the sign on the door so the side reading “closed” faced the glass.

Crystal Shadows was the local occult tourist trap. You sold a plethora of “powerful” items that were, in all actuality, completely useless. Why people who knew nothing about the supernatural world wanted to possess such trinkets was still unknown to you, but you suspected being on the outskirts of New Orleans was more than likely a factor.  Either way, it made your little hole-in-the-wall shop a perfect cover for the more important business you ran after hours.

Behind the tourist-trap facade, you were practically the equivalent of a supernatural drug dealer.  It was a neutral operation; from hunters needing sacred wood to witches requiring rare bones for a hex bag, as long as they paid, you sold. You had regulars on both sides of the fence, and no one ever questioned your allegiance so long as you provided. That was enough for you, seeing that, until recently your loyalty had always been to yourself.

 

As you tidied the shop, the familiar strains of Call Me When You’re Sober began streaming from your cell phone. You couldn’t help the sudden smile and the skipped heartbeat - after all, that ringtone meant your favorite customer was in need.

“Hello, Your Highness,” you answered. His accented voice was as smooth as velvet to your ears. “Of course, you know I can… mmm-hmm…I should be able to get it within the hour.” You jotted down the address he gave you and hung up with another promise to be there as swiftly as possible . Half an hour and a few calls later, you had what he needed and were in your car on your way to what promised to be an interesting night.

* * *

As usual, the King of Hell did not disappoint. You found yourself in the elevator at a swanky hotel on your way up to the penthouse suite.  Although you preferred the rugged beauty of a country home or a log cabin in the mountains, you were more than willing to put that aside to appease Crowley’s more decadent tastes.   
The elevator opened directly into the sitting room of the suite, where your customer lounged in a large leather armchair. His red silk shirt with the top three buttons undone and the crystal tumbler of  expensive brandy  screamed opulence - and seemed designed purely to impress you.  You smiled again as you stepped off of the elevator.  
“Hello, darling,” Crowley said, returning your smile as he sat up. “Have you brought what I asked you for?”  
“I’m offended by the question,” you said with a teasing little gasp, as you pulled a plastic bag full of thick red fluid from the messenger bag that hung at your side. “Have you ever known me not to come through? Granted you appear to take pleasure in making my job more difficult - do you have any idea how hard it is to get an entire pint of AB negative on such short notice?”  
Crowley smirked. “Well, you do enjoy a challenge, Y/N. Otherwise, you would’ve stopped dealing with me long ago.” He waved you in, setting down his brandy. You walked over to him and perched on the edge of the antique hardwood table as he rolled up his sleeve before taking the bag that you offered him and producing a syringe.  
Human blood was certainly an odd drug of choice for a demon, but asking questions was laughable at best and a death warrant at worst in your line of work . Besides, Crowley paid you handsomely, and in more ways than one once he’d finished shooting up. The nights you spent with him were not only more passionate than anything you’d ever known, they were filled with the most interesting pillow talk. In those woozy after-moments, Crowley whispered incredible secrets into your open ear; things that hunters and demons alike would sell their souls to know. If it had been anyone else, you would have tried to sell the information, but for some reason, you found you couldn’t. Despite the personal profits, you knew that the things he told you, in the wrong hands, would wound him in more ways than one, and you couldn’t stand to think of hurting him like that.   
Finally, after you discovered yourself dropping hints and spreading little rumors to help steer hunters away from the King of Hell, you’d begrudgingly accepted that you’d fallen in love with him. Of course, you didn’t tell him that. He was still a demon, and demons didn’t feel things like love. Granted, neither should you - love was rather the opposite of the “looking out for number one” mentality you’d come to adopt. Yet here you were - trusted enough to be at Crowley’s side at his most vulnerable. How you both ended up here was something you desperately wished answered, but didn’t dare to ask. But Crowley, on whatever high he achieved from the human blood, was again full of surprises.

“Sam Bloody Winchester. You’ve heard of him, yeah?” he abruptly started, removing the needle from his forearm with a sharp inhale. You slowly nodded in answer to his question as he rolled the sleeve down. “He and his squirrel of a brother found a way to close the gates of Hell permanently. They had to complete three specific trials, the last of which was to cure a demon.”  
“I didn’t think that was possible,” you replied tentatively. Crowley smirked, looking down at his hands.  
“Nor did I. Regular injections of purified human blood, an exorcism, and voila - cured. Well, not In my case the ritual was not completed, so I’m demonic as ever - except with a plethora of human emotions and an addiction to human blood.”  
You nodded slowly, your mind whirling with the new information How difficult must it be for him to experience all these emotions that he hadn’t known for so long?  You almost pitied him, but you knew he would want none of that - and a part of your brain you’d kept quiet began whispering about an idea you didn’t dare hope was true.  
“It’s ironic,” Crowley said, taking your hand and lacing his fingers with yours. “The Boy King with the demon blood got the King of Hell addicted to human blood. There are worse things, I suppose.”  
He sat back languorously in the chair, pulling you with him to settle comfortably on his lap, arms around you - something that had startled you the first time it happened, but now felt like second nature. Except his current expression - the life you normally saw in his eyes was dulled, even with the fresh blood enlivening his senses and emotion. He looked tired; the kind of exhaustion that seeped into your soul.Your heart ached for him, yet you still didn’t dare to do anything, but lay your head against his shoulder…   
“I only ever wanted to be loved,” he admitted softly. “I couldn’t make anyone love me, so I made them fear me instead.”  
You leaned back to look in his eyes, but he looked down, avoiding your gaze.Swallowing your uncertainty, you replied, “Everyone has at least one person who loves them. Even you.”  
“How could anyone love me, Y/N?” he asked bitterly. You’d never heard so much self-loathing in his voice. “I’m a monster. The things I’ve done? They’re unforgivable.”  
“Hey.” You responded, suddenly emboldened as you placed a hand on his cheek, turning him so his eyes were forced to meet yours. “I know all about the things you’ve done. And I forgive you, Crowley.” You felt his arm tighten around your waist again as he searched your eyes for any sign of dishonesty.  
“How can you? I’m a bloody demon, and I can’t even forgive myself.”  
“Well, I’m not exactly a righteous woman,” you said, smiling softly at him. “And…it’s easy to forgive someone you love.” The words were out before you even knew you’d said them, but Crowley didn’t recoil or curse you or anything you’d feared - only a little stunned, but honestly, so were you. Before the doubt could worm its way back in, you leaned in and brushed your lips against his. “I love you, Crowley.”  
You didn’t expect for him to say it back - especially not after expecting yourself to say it - so you silently enjoyed being wrapped in his arms in the chair for a long while. When your arm went numb and you tried to shift Crowley pulled you back down into his chest.  
“Stay with me, Y/N,” he whispered, pressing his soft lips to your neck. “Stay here with me. I don’t want you to go.” His voice was full of surprise and awe, and a little hope.  
You smiled slightly. “I’m not going anywhere.” You pulled your arm free and settled it comfortably around his shoulders, relaxing into his warmth. His hands stroking your back softly began to lull you to sleep - enough that  you almost didn’t hear his whispered, “I love you, too.”


End file.
